Eton Mess
by Melissa Flint
Summary: Finch-Fletchley finds out that maybe Eton had been a better choice and that one should never let its guard down, even at a picnic. Drabble, nothing serious


Eton Mess

Finch-Fletchley finds out that maybe Eton had been a better choice and that one should never let it's guard down, even at a picnic

"I swear to you, she's trouble!"

Justin looked over Lawrence's shoulder at the girl standing a few paces away from them. Her slender frame was crouching down, while her hands were busily rummaged through the picnic basket. Placing several items or consumables on the white and red blanket, she brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes. Justin measured her over, trying to figure out why his friend was so suspicious of her.

"Are you listening to me?"

Justin returned his attention to the blond in front of him

"Yeah yeah, I heard you but I-"

"No, seriously, if you're ever going to listen to me and take my advice, make it this time, you don't know what you're messing with!"

Justin shook his head, Lawrence was making mountains out of molehills, he was sure of that, the girl was … well, nothing more than a girl – what threat could she possibly be? Dismissing his friend, he walked over, nonchalant and with his chin raised, he was from a good family, a muggle one though but still. The finest schools, the finest clothes and the finest homes, he had never needed anything and right now, he felt a pull towards this girl, a yearning towards her, to hear her speak and to have her eyes on him. Admiration was something he craved.

"Clarissa, are you busy?"

The girl looked at him, interrupted in her work to make the food presentable, she was a perfectionist, something he admired about her. Her deep amber eyes looked at him, her cherry red lips slightly pursed with a small smile playing at the corner.

"I'm never too busy for you"

She answered him sweetly, her voice light and smooth like whipped cream. She brushed a stray of hair out of her eyes and tugged it behind her ear as she tilted her head, showing what seemed to be interest in him. Justin beamed, he loved this part of it, she clearly knew of him and his family and the slight admiration he seemed to be able to sense in her, intoxicated him. Putting on a brilliant smile he sat down next to her, leaning closer to her, eyes moving over her pale skin, like fine meringue and probably just as sweet. Reaching a couple of fingers out to gently touch her hand, she moved out of his reach. As he looked up at her, she winked at him.

"Well?"

Justin was caught off guard, he had been mesmerized by the thought of her, the fantasy of touching her and apparently his momentary confusion amused her, her eyes sparkled as she cocked an eyebrow at him. Composing himself he straightened his robe, brushing some invisible lint of his shoulder.

"I was wondering if I could be your companion for the picnic?"

His thick Oxford accent rolled off his tongue, he knew this was something girls and witches went for, it was something that showed that he had class and he loved how the weaker sex would chat him up just to hear him speak. Watching her face, he wondered why it took so long for her to answer, she was merely watching him with a bemused look in her eyes. Slowly running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, he noticed just how red they were, like strawberries on a hot summer day. His mind started to wonder if they would be as soft and warm? If she would taste just as sweet? As he leaned in, gently parting his own lips, he focused on hers while reaching a hand up to cup her face but she moved before he could touch her, again, and instead of just letting this be a mistake, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of balance. Before he could react he was on his front, covered in cream and berries. He had landed with his face straight in the Pavlova. The laughter broke out instantly and echoed through the grounds as he tried to rid his eyes of crushed meringue. Lawrence kneeled by him, thrusting a handkerchief into his hand while helping him to stand.

"I told you mate…"

Justin spluttered as he regained his vision, the girl still close by while a smug look twisted her normally delicate features. As she spoke, her voice had a sourer tingle to it;

"Rich or not Flinch-Fletchley, you're still a mudblood!"

((A/N: Drabble, no plot, just my wicked mind getting stuck in the tale of how Eton Mess was created, no clue if it's true or not, just found it fun))


End file.
